Crescendo
by Post It Lover
Summary: In the song that is my life, you are my crescendo...


Ah! I haven't been here in a while. As it stands, all my other fics are in literary limbo, which means I have a few chapters written, but I'm not satisfied with how they look...sigh...

This is why I love writing one shots. One shot and they're done...

Enough complaining though. Here's a one shot for the Infernal Devices Series. My first one. =D I submitted this on tumblr under anaessirehc.

The Infernal Devices plot, the characters, and terminology referred to in this fic all belong to Cassandra Clare. I ship Jem/Tessa. No regrets there.

**Crescendo**

_Nocturne Opus 9 Number 2 in E Flat Major by Chopin._

Tessa knew the piece instantly the moment the fine and perfect notes flowed from across the hall and into her ears. The piece with which Jem's father had wooed his mother with before they were married was one of his favorites. _He told me he played it for his bride, and that one day, I would too…_

She closed her book, slipped on her nightgown and quietly padded her way to the door and across the hall, stopping just in front of her fiancé's room. She stood there, remembering with closed eyes, the first time he had played this piece for her and told her the history of the piece, and that he once thought he would never be able to play it for anyone. That no one would want to love someone like him, an addict. That no one would ever want to care for someone who was on the verge of death, like him.

_Until you came_.

He played the piece with such heartfelt tenderness, that when he finished, Tessa was at a loss for words. She could not find the right words to express the mélange of emotions that swirled within her and tried to burst out of her chest. Of love for him, of pain over his past, of anger at his illness, of happiness that he chose her above every other girl he knew to be his bride. She ended up crying against him, her tears completely soaking his shirtfront. She told him how much she loved the piece and told him that the piece was so much like him. And when he asked why, she just smiled and kissed him.

With her eyes still closed, Tessa smiled at the memory. _Do not think that I will forget to ask just because you kissed me. You still owe me an explanation._ He was right. She still owed him an explanation.

Though music was never her field of expertise, she knew enough basic terminology to associate Jem with every part of his music. It was true. He was very much like the music he was playing right now. The first few measures were always played with such care and delicate tenderness. The notes were drawn out, played softly, the vibrato whispering gently in her ears. _Dolce. _Just like Jem, sweet and kind and honest. The languid flow of the notes reminiscent of his gentleness, his calm demeanor and the air of tranquility he had about him despite his illness.

The music had started to speed up a bit. _A Tempo._ Jem also had a playful side. He also had a way with words like Will did and on occasion, he would make a humorous comment at the expense of his _parabatai._ Also, he would sometimes chase her around the library, pretending to want to read the book she was reading in order to steal a quick kiss on the cheek and in the end, they would sit in front of the fire, laughing their hearts out.

But what she liked most about the piece and what reminded her most about Jem was the gradual build up of the music. The slow, painstaking, build up of the volume and the force and passion with which the music was played, that when the music was done, one was robbed of words and left breathless.

_Crescendo._

His kisses would always, _always _start slowly, languidly, as if they had all the time in the world to hold each other and feel each other's lips. His caresses, loving yet cautiously soft as if to ask her permission: _May I touch you, my Tessa?_ His breathing deep and slow. _Dolce._

Once she started responding to his ministrations, he would start putting a bit more pressure to his kisses and his touch. He would put his arm around her waist and cup the back of her neck to pull them closer together as if to tell her: _I adore you. I want you_. The sense of an urgent need driving him to take bolder actions and leaving her wanting for more. _A Tempo._

His sweet lips, firm yet gentle, would then become as hot as the burning embers of a fire, kissing her harder and harder and with such passion, that she had trouble breathing and responding to his kisses. His hands, soothing and unhurried, would then start to press her skin and leave a burning sensation in their wake and send shivers across her body. He would shift and mold their bodies together with such intimacy that Tessa wondered if it was at all possible for two people to be more intimate than this. From slow and deliberate touches, to all consuming passion, Jem made sure that she thoroughly enjoyed every single one of his kisses, building everything up to a point where they had to force themselves to break apart just to be able to breathe. He was very passionate, just like this piece. _Crescendo._

The door in front of her flew open as she realized with a start that the music had ended and that Jem was standing in front of her with a crooked smile gracing his beautiful face. They stared at each other for a moment, and the next, his gentle hands had pulled her close and his lips met hers with a soft and welcoming kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled at her.

"I had hoped that your were not sleeping and would hear me play." He said honestly, albeit shyly with a guilty blush on his cheeks, and she found the gesture endearing.

"And why did you want me to hear you play, Mr. Carstairs?" responded Tessa with a playful grin as she gently brushed away the fine silver hair that fell over his eyes.

"I hoped you might be willing to tell me why I was like this piece."

She smiled at him once again, and curved her arms around his neck, pulling him close. As he kissed her lips, the gentleness faded away and was slowly being replaced by a more passionate, more possessive kiss, his arms, lean yet tender, tightening around her waist as he pulled her inside his bedroom and closing the door behind them. She felt herself smiling.

_This is why you're very much like this piece James. You leave me breathless, bereft of words. In the song that is my life, you are the point at which I slowly abandon all thought and just feel. Just feel love and protectiveness, and passion. In the song that is my life, you are my crescendo._


End file.
